


Thawing Out

by often_adamanta



Series: 12 in 12 Challenge [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Future Fic, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, Not Beta Read, POV Character of Color, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sharing a Bed, There's A Tag For That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8173018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/often_adamanta/pseuds/often_adamanta
Summary: Sam would like to state for the record that this was not his fault. Like, 0% of this shit was on him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I tried out a random prompt generator, and it gave me: superheroes huddling for warmth in a roadside motel. Obviously I couldn't resist and wrote this in an hour and a half, flash fic style. Fun all around :D

Sam would like to state for the record that this was not his fault. Like, 0% of this shit was on him. He didn’t build Hydra bases in the ass end of nowhere North Dakota, and he didn’t make plans to blow them up in goddamn November, and he definitely hadn’t uttered the most moronic phrase in the English language, “Let’s split up.” That last was all Steve, who has probably never seen a single episode of Scooby Doo. 

Sam’s definitely adding that to the list as soon as Steve hauls his star spangled ass to the rendezvous point. 

None of them had anticipated Hydra developing anti-aircraft weaponry fast enough to take him out. Honestly, if it hadn’t landed him in the coldest river in America with one of his wings shot off, he’d be almost proud that he warranted the effort. As it is, he’s too cold to feel much of anything beyond the anger he’s trying to use to warm up. 

He eyes Bucky in the driver seat and wishes it were Steve or Natasha. Then he feels ungrateful, because Bucky had fished him out with relative ease, managing to stay dry on the frosted river edge while wearing a look a vague annoyance. It’s pretty much the only expression Sam has seen directed at him. 

Bucky’s wearing it right now. 

Sam tries to shove his hands further into his armpits, but it doesn’t really help since he’s freezing everywhere. He resists the urge to fiddle with the heater of their stolen car again. For one, that won’t magically make it start working, and two, he’s not sure he even could right now what with all the shivering. 

The first hint of civilization is a set of glowing points which slowly resolve into golden arches and a flickering gas station sign. Sam would pretty much kill for a cup of coffee right now starts mentally preparing his arguments, but Bucky turns on the blinker before Sam even has a chance to say anything and takes the exit. 

Then he turns in the opposite direction. 

Sam makes an outraged noise as they cross under the highway and roll into the parking lot of a truly sad motel. Sam hadn’t even noticed it from the road because the tall sign is completely dark, but now he can see the yellow lights in the windows of several rooms and the tiny, dingy ‘OPEN’ sign in the office door. 

“What?” Sam asks, or tries to ask, but his jaw is locked tight when it’s not shaking and it’s mostly a stuttering repeat of the first syllable more than anything else. 

“Pickup’s not until tomorrow,” Bucky says. 

Sam looks at him and back at the motel several times, eyebrows raised. He’s itchy just looking at this place. 

“Your shivering is slowing down, and it’s not because you’re getting warmer,” Bucky says flatly, “But hey, if you want to die of hypothermia, be my guest.”

That’s actually true, Sam realizes, now that he’s paying attention, now that he’s looking for it. He thought he’d been warming up, but that seems stupid in hindsight, and dangerous. 

Bucky doesn’t wait for him to answer, climbing out of the car and letting in a frigid burst of wind that sucks out any heat they’d managed to generate in the close quarters of the front seat. He goes into the motel office, body language all wound tight as if he could fold up his massive frame into something small and safe. 

Sam waits and shivers. 

Bucky returns and lets in another blast of cold air as he gets back in the car. He throws it into reverse and quickly pulls into another spot a little ways down. Sam’s quietly grateful because the less walking in the cold he has to do, the better. 

Bucky briefly disappears into the room. Sam watches the lights flick on, and then Bucky comes to help him inside, and it turns out Sam is doing no walking in the cold because Bucky half drags, half carries him inside. 

He’s deposited in a rickety wooden chair by the door, and Sam has to admit that the room’s not as bad as he expected. It smells strongly of bleach and stale cigarettes, but it looks cleaner than the outside would indicate and, most of all, it’s blessedly, achingly warm. The radiator under the window ticks slowly and blows hot air right onto Sam’s legs and feet. 

Bucky’s doing a full sweep of the room, and normally Sam might make a bitchy comment about paranoia, but he’s the reason they stopped at this shitty motel, and if they’re compromised and need to leave, he’d rather know now than when Hydra breaks down the door. 

When Bucky’s finished, he looks over at Sam and sighs. Now that Sam’s warming up again, his shivers are back, violently so, and Bucky manages to make it seem like Sam’s near death condition is a real hardship for Bucky. 

If Sam had the fine motor skill necessary, he’d flip Bucky off. 

Bucky comes over and starts stripping Sam’s wet layers off. The coat he’s wearing is actually Bucky’s, since his had been abandoned, waterlogged and useless, at the scene, but now the inside is damp and clings to his shirt and empty shoulder holster as Bucky takes it off. 

Sam’s wearing multiple layers of combat gear, because he’d known how cold it would be, even if he hadn’t expected to get acquainted with the temperature in such a visceral way, and it takes a while. 

He’s conflicted when he’s finally down to boxers and a tee because they’re wet and uncomfortable, but he doesn’t really want to be naked. Bucky doesn’t ask his opinion, though, just strips him down and gets him in bed beneath the covers. He pulls the blanket from the second bed sitting farther from the radiator and covers Sam up with that, too, then goes and finds another, thinner one in the closet and drapes it over top. 

Sam’s warm enough now that his skin isn’t so numb anymore, the hollow stiffness replaced with fiery pain and tingles. He burrows down farther so that his nose is under the blankets. The mattress isn’t the worst Sam’s ever slept on, but just like every other motel he’s been in, the pillows are flat and useless. 

Bucky comes out of the bathroom with most of his tac gear in a tidy pile in his arms. He sets it down, and Sam sees that even his boots are off, although he’d left his heavy socks and thermal underlayers on, which makes sense because Sam stole his blankets. 

Well, it makes sense until Bucky lifts the covers on Sam’s bed and crawls beneath them. 

“What?” Sam asks again, and this time he gets both syllables out, even if they are broken apart. Progress. 

“Shut up,” Bucky says, with the same vaguely annoyed expression as always. He pulls Sam closer to the center and then drops basically his entire body weight on top of him. 

“Ooof,” Sam gasps, exaggerating a little, but not much. 

Bucky makes a low disgruntled noise in his throat and shifts so that he’s only mostly lying on Sam instead of entirely. Sam can breathe now, so he decides it’s okay, especially since Bucky’s incredibly warm. Even his metal hand, resting heavily against Sam’s shoulder, feels fever hot against his chilled skin.

Sam soaks it up for a minute, concentrates on relaxing and evening out his breathing, and then tucks his fingers just inside the hem of Bucky’s shirt against his side and stomach. 

Bucky hisses but doesn’t flinch away.

Sam wiggles his fingers.

“I hate you,” Bucky says. 

Sam grins because he’s literally covered in proof that that’s not true anymore, if it ever was. He moves his hands a little higher, finding a new warm spot, and laughs when Bucky curses.

**Author's Note:**

> I am of the opinion that Steve has, in fact, seen Scooby Doo and just likes to fuck with people.


End file.
